Snix Junior
by MGMK
Summary: Maya-verse. In the words of...some rapper I can't remember nor do I care to google, "She get it from her Mama." P.S. Please read the author's note.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note #1: **Sorry for the absence, again. I feel like that's all I say. Anyway, here's another Maya-verse for you guys. I'm giving the credit to this one to my writing partner for the inspiration. Also, working on a new Fifty First Times and I might have it finished today, so for those of you still reading that one, be on the lookout. Anyway, thanks to my beta for looking this over and thanks, as always, to you guys for reading and reviewing. I appreciate it grandly.

***O**o*o*O*o*o**O***

"Ma-ya," Santana scolds lightly, frowning as Maya's little Velcro-strip tied sneaker goes flying across the room again.

Maya just frowns back, kicking her little legs against the duvet as Santana goes to retrieve the shoe.

"You have to get dressed," Santana says in exasperation, kneeling down again but Maya stubbornly kicks her legs again.

"No."

"Yes," Santana shoots back.

"No," Maya says, shaking her head. "No, no, no, no, no."

"You know what," Santana says suddenly, shaking her head at herself, "Why is this even a debate? I'm your mother and I am bigger than you and you're going to wear these shoes," she finishes, taking Maya's foot and slipping on the sneaker with much resistance and no cooperation.

All the while Maya's protesting so much she's rolled over onto her stomach, arms and legs pounding at the soft down of their bed as she yells, her high-pitched baby voice carrying throughout their home.

"Hey," Brittany says, poking her head in from their bathroom, toothbrush still in her mouth, "What's going on?"

Santana looks up guiltily, face red from exertion as she's practically wrangled their daughter to put her shoe on.

Maya's wearing an equally guilty expression, lips still poked out in a pout as she looks at her other mother.

"Your daughter has lost her daaaammrrrnnn," Santana amends cutely, mid-sentence, "mind. That's what's going on."

Brittany gives her a foamy smile. "Is that right?"

Santana straightens up, Maya pushing herself upright again in the process – still missing the one shoe.

"Yes," Santana snaps. "All of a fuuuudgin' sudden, she doesn't want to wear shoes." Santana's head cocks to the side dramatically as she looks at her wife, "Tell me Brittany, do you think that's normal, sane behavior?"

"Actually," Brittany says, quickly darting into the bathroom to finish up, coming back into the bedroom with a smirk on her face, "It actually is normal and sane for a fourteen month old toddler," she explains, scooping Maya up into her arms, trying not to laugh at the fact that Santana's actually glaring at Maya.

"Look at her," Santana says, her eyes locking onto Maya's – who's happily leaning her head against Brittany's shoulder. "It's like she's taunting me."

"Oh my God, baby," Brittany laughs out, running her free hand down Santana's arm in a placating manner. "Just go finish getting, ready," she laughs, her fingers grasping at Santana's hand. "I'll finish up in here."

Santana leaves, grumbling about a cross between Rosemary's Baby and Damien and Brittany looks down at Maya, who's innocently blinking at Santana's retreat.

"Why are you giving your Mommy such a hard time, Pumpkin?" she whispers to the little girl, kissing the crown of her head.

Maya, true to form, just grins.

* * *

"I hate awards season," Brittany grumbles from the sofa, her work forgotten as she instead watches Santana try on dress after dress.

Santana chuckles. "You only hate awards season because of all the traveling."

"No," Brittany protests, turning to lie on her stomach, propping her head up in her hands, "I hate awards season because everybody gets to ogle my assets."

Santana just grins wider, shifting her hips a little in the full length, white crystal gown, prompting Kurt's head to pop out from behind her.

"If you keep moving around like that I might do some needle damage to one of those assets," he chastises, lightly smacking her bottom to send the point home.

"Hey now," Brittany reprimands, still pouting.

"Trust me, Britt," Kurt says, "Your gal ain't packin' what I'm after."

"Well not the _real _thing, no and not today," Brittany comments idly and Santana's eyes widen.

"Kurt-" she tries to say.

"Did Brittany just imply that you sometimes wear a strap-on?" Kurt asks in a squeaky voice.

"No, no she did not," Santana says, shooting Brittany a look but Brittany ignores her.

"She totally does. Twice a month. We call them dirty Thursdays."

"Britt," Santana squeals but Brittany just laughs, pleased.

"I…I don't even know what to say to that," Kurt laments, clearly stupefied by the revelation.

The sound of a throat clearing loudly interrupts the trio as Brody enters the room, ears as red as beets as he brings in a giggling Maya.

Santana takes one look at him and knows. "How much did you hear?"

"Unfortunately everything," Brody manages to get out sheepishly, looking at everything but them. "But I'll never mention it again," he's quick to add, finding his coat and throwing it on.

"That'd be wise," Kurt informs him.

"Browey, down," Maya commands, pushing at his broad shoulders, and Brody complies immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of one of her recently frequent hissy fits.

Maya toddles over to where's Santana's standing before tugging on her dress lightly. "Mama, uh?" she asks, holding her hands up.

Santana smiles down on her, repentant. "I'm sorry Princess. Mommy can't pick you up right now. Britt, can you get her?"

"On it," Brittany says, rolling off the couch.

Maya frowns though, tugging on Santana's dress more forcefully. "Mama, uh," she says, her voice sterner.

No longer a request.

"Come on, Pumpkin," Brittany says, lifting her up onto her hip. "Mommy's gotta finish getting pretty."

Maya shakes her head frantically, reaching out for Santana even as Brittany pulls her away.

"Mama," she wails.

Santana inches out of position with sad eyes, earning another smack to her posterior. "'Chill 50 Shades of Gay, I'm still," she warns.

"Stay that way," Kurt murmurs, pins pinched in the corner of his mouth.

Brittany shushes Maya as she takes her away to the bedroom and Santana watches them leave, looking torn up. "I don't know what's going on with her lately," she laments. "I just keep pissing her off."

"You're not," Brody says with a light laugh, wrapping a scarf around his neck twice. "It's just a phase."

"Yeah," Santana sighs, "The 'I-hate-my-mommy' phase."

Brody laughs again and Kurt watches him, temporarily distracted from his hemming detail. "You guys need me tomorrow or…"

"No, Britt and I will still be here if you still need it off," Santana tells him. "But Thursday though…"

"Gotcha," Brody grins, looking excited.

Kurt takes note. "Well, someone looks anxious to get out of here."

"I've got a date," Brody says, pausing at the doorway.

"She'd better be worth the bank you're giving up, Mr. Weston," Santana admonishes playfully.

Brody laughs again, halfway out the door. "Oh he is," he says, giving them both a little wink before closing the door behind him.

Santana's jaw drops for all of four seconds when-

"Ow!"

She jumps, her hand flying to her backside and rubbing it furiously.

"How come you didn't tell me he was gay, Missy?" Kurt hisses.

"Because I didn't know, Fancy Pants," Santana snaps back, turning to glare at him. "And why does it matter, Mr. Future Bowtie Baron?"

"Because," Kurt says, gesturing around vaguely with his hands, "Now he obviously knows that the entire time I've been over here 'hanging out' I've been gay-perving on him?"

"Newsflash: _he already knows_. You, Mercedes, and Quinn recorded him vacuuming the carpet for 'research' purposes," Santana finger-quotes. "The kid's got a degree alright. He's not stupid."

Kurt has nothing to say to that so he just sucks his teeth, gesturing for Santana to spin back around. "Whatever. Your gaydar is horrible."

"Says the gay man," Santana fires back.

…

"I hate you."

* * *

"Gimme him," Brittany says the minute Quinn sets foot inside their house and Quinn rolls her eyes lightly before handing the carrier she's holding over.

Santana looks up from the couch where she's reading with Maya and smiles at her longtime friend. "Hey, Q."

"Hey Coo," Maya echoes.

"Well, at least I know I'm not invisible," the woman jokes good-naturedly, slipping off her coat and hat before moving further into the living room.

Brittany's already unsheathed Elijah, lifting him up onto her shoulder carefully. "Aw, he's gotten so big, San. But he's still got that baby smell."

Maya looks up at them curiously, her face screwed up in thought. "E-why?" she asks Santana, hopeful.

"You wanna see Eli, baby?" Santana asks and Maya nods, waiting patiently until Brittany brings the baby closer.

"He baby," she explains to them, like they don't know. "Wittle bayybee," she sing-songs, staring at him and Elijah watches her too, a funny little perplexed look on his face.

…and then he sneezes and Maya loses her shit.

Maya giggles so hard that she just flops over onto Santana, her tiny tot book falling out of her grasp.

"Bless you," Brittany laughs, still snuggling Elijah before securing his nursing blanket a little more tightly around him. "That was the cutest little sneeze," she gushes, staring down at him with big eyes and then those eyes find Santana. "I want another one."

"Ha!" Santana snorts, now just as amused as Maya. "That's hilarious."

"I'm not joking," Brittany says, settling onto the sofa next to her. "I want another one. Actually, I want this one but Quinn and Puck probably don't want to sell their baby."

"Well," Quinn says playfully, "What are you offering?"

Santana turns on her, settling Maya into her lap when the baby girl starts to get a little grabby. "You wouldn't sell your kid, Q. And I know you guys haven't slept in like forever but you and Puck are cray-cray about Little Man even if his cries do break the sound barrier every now and then. And two, Britt, are you for real?"

"Yes," Brittany says, nodding dramatically. "I want another baby. Babies are the best. Not that Maya isn't awesome 'cause you know," Brittany stops to tap her daughter's hand, "You go girl, but she's getting big and I just miss all the little things like how she couldn't hold her head up or talk or how she used to give us all those drool-y grins that were just gas."

"Uh, that last one still happens."

"I mean, San, just look at him," Brittany says, holding Elijah out in front of her wife, "Doesn't this face just scream 'love me'?"

Quinn eyes her son's face. "Nope, that means he's about to puke."

* * *

Brittany's lounging on the sofa, reviewing some drafts when Santana darts toward the front door.

"I'll be right back, Britt. Need some thyme for tonight's dinner, 'kay?" Santana rushes out as she grabs her keys.

"'kay baby," Brittany nods, "Love you."

"Love you too," Santana says. "Maya's playing with toys in her room."

"Alright," Brittany says, eyeing the door and then jumping up the minute it closes.

She reaches for her previously closed laptop and brings up her browsing history, finding Tiffany & Co. easily.

"Alright, bling, bling," she murmurs to herself, navigating through the site and hoping that something catches her attention, "Gotta get my wifey some birthday bling."

Santana's birthday is right around the corner and in spite of what Santana thinks, Brittany's really rather bad at this gift-giving thing.

She usually waits until the last minute and then inspiration would strike.

But…

As the months and weeks and days to Santana's birthday grew nearer, Brittany's only gotten more frustrated because she has nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

Maybe she can do something naked.

Santana likes naked.

She adds yet another pendant necklace into her shopping cart before she finally hears it, this faint humming sound coming from Maya's bedroom.

Her first instinct is to call out for Santana, because the humming is oddly familiar but she knows Santana just left and…who is that?

Slowly, Brittany makes her way into Maya's room, the sounds she's heard becoming more distinct as she does so and she now recognizes them as words…well, almost words.

Maya's got one of her stuffed toys in her arms, rocking it slowly while she sings so prettily.

"…_nye, nye, baybee…nye, nye, baybee…tie… go… seepy…nye, nye, baybee…nye, nye, baybee…tie…go…seepy…"_

Brittany recognizes the song as one Santana used to sing to Maya when she was just an infant and has taken to singing it to her again now when their little girl has a tough time settling down for bed.

Maya's little voice, while hushed, sounds just as cute as she sings it to her stuffed lamb though.

And Brittany finds herself gasping a little when Maya sets the toy down and covers it with a small blanket. Maya looks up, having heard the noise, and holds her finger up to her lips.

"Sss," she hisses, though Brittany knows she means to quiet her. "Baby sweep."

And that's when it hits Brittany.

The perfect birthday gift idea.

* * *

Santana's sleeping soundly when Brittany's cell phone starts ringing, blaring loudly on their night stand and of course Brittany – who sleeps like the dead – doesn't even flinch at the sound, which doesn't exactly bode well Santana answering the phone either because Brittany is literally sleeping on top of her.

Groggily, she shoots a hand out and blindly finds the annoying device, checking the caller ID and praying that she won't have to buy Brittany a new phone because if this is Rachel asking her to color-coordinate their dresses one more time…

"Speak then die," she grunts out.

"Hello to you to Santana," Sam laughs out. "I'm not interrupting anything am I? Is it…dirty Thursday?"

In the background she can hear Mercedes, "Leave it Santana to give it a name."

"Trouty," Santana hisses, annoyed, "hanging up in five, four, three, two-"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Sam rushes to say and now Santana can hear the faint rustling of fabric on the other end. "Don't you want to be the first one to say hello to your little nephew."

Santana's eyes finally pop open.

"What?" she asks weakly.

"It's true," Mercedes says. "We tried our parents but they're all knocked out or something. You're the first live person we've reached. So, say hi to our little snookums."

"You guys got him. I mean, well, I knew you had him but like, you've got him, like, with you," Santana asks breathlessly.

"Yeah," Sam chuckles thickly. "He's all ours."

"What's his name?" Santana asks, finally attempting to wake Brittany, tickling her shoulders until her wife starts to stir.

"Jackson," both Mercedes and Sam say at the same time and Santana has to laugh a little, knowing exactly why they chose that name.

"Santana," Brittany whines, trying to snuggle down further, "Stop making so many sounds and stuff. I'm trying to taste the rainbow."

"Britt," Santana whispers, scratching Brittany's scalp gently until her wife turns her nose into Santana's neck, letting loose that sigh that means she's awake but not liking it.

"This'd better be an awesome wake-up call. Preferably one involving sex. And maybe some Skittles."

"Brittany, wake yo' ass up," Mercedes' voice booms and Brittany startles awake promptly then.

"Yeah," Sam echoes, "There's someone we want you to meet."

"It'd better be Ke$ha," Brittany grumbles, rubbing at her eyes and Santana activates the viewing mode, now that they're both awake and the image of Sam and Mercedes filters in, a small blinking creature nestled in between them.

"This is Jackson," Sam nods to the toddler and Brittany dive-bombs the phone, her barely awake speech dissolving into energized squeals as she clamors over Santana.

Mercedes laughs. "I think she likes him."

* * *

Santana takes a deep breath and shrugs her shoulders, hoping to release some of the tension there.

The fabric of the raincoat she's wearing crinkles slightly in response.

And then she just gets annoyed all over again.

Across from her, Maya's sitting in her high chair, looking the picture of perfection and innocence, even with smashed pumpkin and sweet potatoes all over her cheeks and chin.

But Santana knows better.

After all, she's also wearing smashed pumpkin and sweet potatoes now.

"Okay Maya," she smiles patiently, moving her hand and letting the plastic spoon full of pureed food hover carefully in front of her daughter. "Mama's tried being patient with you. I've tried mixing it in with the applesauce. I've even tried eating it myself. Now, you listen to me. You are _going_ to finish your dinner and you are _going_ to like it," Santana explains, her tone brooking no argument. "Now, eat," she directs, holding the spoon out and Maya shakes her head violently.

"No," she says, slapping her hands against her tray, splashing a little bit of pumpkin onto Santana's face, just under her eye.

Santana's eye twitches and Maya watches carefully as her mother slowly lowers the spoon and bowl to the nearby kitchen table.

Santana slowly pushes herself into a standing position and then Snix comes out.

"I don't know what your problem is lately young lady but you've got another thing coming if you think you're going to tell me, your _mother_, what you are and are not going to do. Now, you _are going_ to do what I say because I. Am. Your. Mother. I brought you in this world and I will take you out."

Maya looks at Santana for all of two seconds before she too goes on a little spiel, complete with smacking her hands against her high top chair table and a rambling – though unintelligible – rant of her own.

"Okay, now this is getting kind of ridiculous," Brittany says, suddenly standing at the kitchen entrance, work bag and keys still in hand as she glances from her slightly orange daughter to her equally orange wife, the latter still wearing a raincoat indoors.

"That is your daughter, Britt," Santana says, unbuttoning the rain coat and throwing it down as she moves to head toward their bedroom. "You're the only one she listens to anyway," she tosses over her shoulder in a tone meant to sound dismissive, but Brittany, being her best friend, picks up on the smallness of her voice and knows that she's definitely upset.

Sighing, Brittany sets her bag and keys on the table before taking Maya out of her high chair, grabbing a clean dry kitchen towel on the way as she moves to follow Santana.

She finds her in their room, sitting on the bed with her face buried in her hands and sobbing quietly.

"Santana," Brittany broaches gently.

"Don't," Santana warns, holding up a hand. "I'm not crying."

"Of course, you're not. And you're totally not upset either," Brittany says, knowing how exactly to play _this_ particular little game. "But, I think I need to explain something to you."

Santana, still _not _crying, sniffles. "What?" she asks, tearfully.

"Our daughter," Brittany starts, inching closer towards her wife, "Our little, darling, angel who suddenly seems to have the biggest beef in the world with you right now, is you."

Now Santana looks up at her, her eyes a little wild and unfocused. "What?" she asks/whispers.

Brittany reaches the bed and sits down next to her, settles Maya comfortably into Santana's lap and Santana blindly moves her hands to secure her.

"She's you," Brittany answers with a small smile and a shrug. "That's the only reason I'm able to calm her. Just like most times I'm the only one who can bring you back from a Snix-page. I don't know, maybe I'm the Snix Elixir or something."

"Wait," Santana starts, sniffles, then starts again, "Are you telling me, that the only reason our daughter and I aren't getting along right now is because she's finally found her inner-Snix?"

Brittany smiles and nods once, assertively. "She's like Snix Junior."

"Oh, thank God," Santana breathes out, turning Maya around in her arms and hugging her tightly. "I thought she hated my guts or something. Ugh. Man, she's gonna be a bitch to deal with when she becomes a teenager, though," Santana bemoans, shuddering slightly. "You're not going to leave us ever, right Britt-Britt?"

"Baby," Brittany grins, pressing her lips against Santana's shoulder quickly, "In the words of Aubrey 'Drake' Graham, I want this shh…tuff, forever, man."

* * *

Santana feels the bed move a little when Brittany climbs back in.

She doesn't think much about it since Brittany's got the tiniest bladder known to mankind at times but when there's another weight inching up the blanket and heading towards her face, she gets a little curious.

She fights off a smile when Maya's little fingers poke at her nose and lips, but she loses the battle when Maya lifts up her eyelid.

"Hi Mama," her daughter says brightly, her four little teeth on display as she gives Santana a smile.

Santana chortles quietly, shifting in bed so that she's lying flat on her back, both Maya and Brittany looking down on her.

"What are you two up to?" she asks sleepily.

Brittany gives Santana a little smirk before reaching across to tap Maya on her arm.

"Remember Pumpkin," Brittany says, "Just like we practiced."

Santana's eyebrows cinch together in confusion as Maya gets this almost shy look on her face, looking back and forth between her two mothers before settling on Brittany.

And then, tentatively and very quietly, Maya starts singing.

"_Ha burrday to dooo… _

_Ha burrrday to dooo…_

_Ha burrday…"_

Maya stops here, trying to remember and Brittany helps her out a little, both of them singing the next line.

"_Dear(Dee) Mommy(Mama)…_

"_Ha burrday to dooo…" _

Maya finishes the song and then claps her hands and squeals, leaping up and across the Brittany, proud 'cause she's done it.

But Brittany's eyes are on Santana's, are on her wife as she holds a hand over her mouth and cries silently.

"Happy Birthday," Brittany says quietly.

Maya finally looks back to Santana and pouts when she sees the tears.

"Mama?" she asks, her tiny voice filled with worry.

Santana shakes her head, holding her arms out for Maya to crawl into them.

"C'mere Princess," she chokes out, hugging Maya tightly when the toddler scrambles over to her.

"This is the best surprise. Mommy loves you so much," she murmurs, kissing Maya's head and the little girl giggles delightedly.

Santana looks over at Brittany again, another small tear falling as she mouths out 'Thank you'.

Brittany kisses her for her 'your welcome'.


End file.
